


Kitchen of Eden

by bellowbacks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baking, Baking Show AU, M/M, Pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 15:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16875663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellowbacks/pseuds/bellowbacks
Summary: Castiel is a competitor on Kitchen of Eden, a baking show set in an idyllic garden.Dean is a judge.They live in the same house between filming.





	Kitchen of Eden

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first part of this! i have two more planned currently, so stay tuned! enjoy!!

Dean can't sleep.

It's not like tomorrow is the first time they're filming, either. They're on like, episode 4, and there are already less competitors to worry about, less desserts to try, and less judging to do.

Though, one of those things isn't necessarily good, as Dean could always go for more desserts. Especially ones so well crafted, as they more often than not are.

In any case, laying in an only semi-familiar bed and staring at a plain white ceiling isn't going to do him any good. No matter how interesting some of the shapes of the cracks are, and no matter how many pictures and faces he manages to find. 

Dean slides out of bed. In this house, he doesn't sleep in boxers like he does at home. Instead, he brought his most festive baking themes pajama pants, of which he has frankly too many of, as Sam tended to get him them for every holiday at this point. Today's pajama pants had pies all over them in honor of tomorrow's pie competition. Apple, cherry, blackberry, derby, peach, even meat pies adorned plaid yellow fabric that was unbelievably soft. Dean still had no idea where Sam managed to find them, but he was damn glad.

He runs his fingers through his greasy hair and blinks sleepily as he turns on the lamp. Dean winces and turns away before moving slowly towards the door. Tea can help. Tea helps you sleep. He should know, he’s a baking professional.

The walk to the kitchen was quick. In a house full of bakers and chefs, the kitchen can never be too far away, and as a judge, Dean ended up right next door to it with his co-judge right beside him. The hardwoods were cold underfoot even through his socks, but it was soothing. Grounding.

A smell suddenly hits Dean's nose. It's sweet, fruity, and immediately recognizable as pie. He frowns and peers through the doorway into the kitchen.

Inside is one of the contestants, Castiel Milton, in sweatpants and a t-shirt with a plain blue apron over his already flour covered pajamas. He has two pies cooling, one empty tin sitting next to a bowl of pie filling, and he is in the process of putting a fourth pie in the oven.

Castiel closes the oven and slides off the oven mitt before swiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He turns after that and freezes, eyes wide, at the sight of Dean standing in the doorway. 

“I’m just,” he starts, his voice dark and gravelly with the late night, “Practicing. For tomorrow.”

Dean couldn’t stop his lips from quirking up in a smile. “I won’t tell if you let me try some,” he says. He leans against the doorframe and cocks his head to the side. If he’s flirting, nobody would know besides himself. It wasn’t like they filmed between episodes at the mansion.

Castiel’s face relaxes. “Of course, judge,” he says and quirks his eyebrow up just slightly before turning around to face his cooling pies. Dean traces the muscular lines that are outlined beneath Castiel’s thin shirt, wishing for what wasn’t even close to the first time that they had met under different circumstances, and then steps into the kitchen proper. 

“What flavor are you making?” he asks and peers at one of the pies. The crust is perfectly flaky and golden brown on the first one and a little bit too thin on the second. He realizes that Castiel is experimenting and smiles. 

“See for yourself,” Castiel says and hands Dean a plate with a perfectly sized slice of what looks like apple pie oozing delicious syrup and still slightly steaming from the oven. Dean’s mouth salivates. 

He takes the plate and the fork Castiel offers him and then walks around the kitchen island to where the stools are. As soon as he’s seated, he slides his fork through the tip of the slice of pie and scoops up the perfect amount. He smells it first. It’s delectable, perfect in a way so different from his bakeries smell, all cinnamon and nutmeg and an extra something special making the apples inside just seem to ooze perfection. 

When he takes the bite, his life seems to change as the pastry melts against his tongue and the perfect bake sings his mouth arias- this new and perfect thing wrapping him up in blankets, spoon feeding him childhood memories, and pulling an embarrassingly loud moan from his throat. 

Castiel watches him intently and his cheeks go pink at the sound. Dean slowly chews and swallows the first bite before taking another one, greedy, hungry despite having eaten so much pastry already in the last few days. 

“God, that’s so fuckin’ good,” Dean manages between bites as he savors the slice. He sets the plate down after the last bite of the crust. “There’s no way anything can beat that, man. You don’t need to practice, but I super don’t mind these babies being here.” Dean gestures to the finished pies and pats his stomach with the other hand. “Fuck, man. That’s damn good.”

Castiel’s face is red. “Thank you,” he says simply and looks down at his hands. 

Dean glances at the door, and then the clock on the microwave, and then leans forward. “Tell me about your shop, Cas,” he says. “You do a whole charity thing, right? These pies could raise a shit ton of money.”

Castiel pulls out a stool and sits down on the side of the island beside Dean, so the corner of the granite is separating them still. “It’s called Lavender Menace, it’s me and my sister Charlie’s passion project,” he says. His voice is like honey in Dean’s ears, soothing every ache and every annoyed feeling that’s ever prickled at the back of his neck. Uh oh.

“First, you have a sister?” Dean asks and rests his chin on his palm. It’s definitely not an excuse to lean closer to Castiel. “Second, is it Lavender Menace after the whole lesbian uprising in the 70’s?”

Castiel raises his eyebrows, seemingly impressed. Dean can’t help but feel pleased; he wants to impress Cas. He doesn’t think about how much it was supposed to be the other way around. He pointedly doesn’t think about the show at all. 

“Not biologically, but she’s the only thing I’ve ever felt was worth calling family,” Castiel says first. Dean can understand that, especially with John. Bobby was far more his dad than his father ever was. “And yes, Charlie named it. As a bakery that helps the next door LGBT shelter and donates a lot of our proceeds to LGBT charities and projects… It felt apt,” Castiel finishes. He swallows and Dean traces the movement of his adam’s apple with his eyes before flicking up to look at Castiel’s baby blues again. 

“I like that a lot,” Dean smiles. “My brother would too. He goes to a lot of those places, the locally owned charitable sorts,” he says, “I try to, but they’re hard to find when you’re so busy trying to run one yourself.”

“Yes, you just opened a bakery in St. Louis, right?” Castiel asks and tilts his head to the side. Dean flicks his eyes up to look at Castiel’s hair, messy and dark and thick, and he clenches the hand not holding his head into a fist to keep from touching it. 

He nods, just a moment too far delayed. “Yeah. I got the one in Lawrence, the one in Lebanon, and now the one in St. Louis, but they’ve all been getting a fuckin ton of customers lately,” he says, leaning back and running his fingers through it. “It’s been awesome, but stressful as shit, especially with the show, but I love everything I’m doing too much to stop.”

The corner of Castiel’s lips turn up just enough to be a smile. Dean’s stomach turns and he gets a sinking feeling in his chest that he completely ignores. He does Not have time for a real crush with real feelings. Sure, jerking off in the shower to the idea of one of the contestants on the show he is definitely judging is also probably not a great idea, but catching feelings is a far worse one. 

“I’ve been to the Lawrence location before, your pastries are excellent,” Castiel says then, and his smile grows into a fuller one, his upper lip overtaking his bottom one, a soft pink that looks chapped and worn and so, so kissable. Would he taste as good as the pie? Would he kiss as good as he looks like he does?

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Dean says after a painfully long hesitation that he definitely didn’t spend staring at Castiel’s mouth. “Most of ‘em are my mom’s recipe.”

Castiel nods at that and his smile fades into a softer, more comfortable smile. He shifts on the bar stool and picks at a worn, tied rainbow friendship bracelet around his wrist. “Did she teach you how to bake?” Castiel asks softly. Dean realizes that when Castiel shifted his seat he moved a little bit closer and now he can feel his body heat radiating off of him and touching Dean’s skin through his pajama pants. 

“Yeah, she did, when I was a kid,” Dean finally says. “And then I kept baking because of her. To honor her, I guess.” And because he loves it, and because it was the one thing that kept Sammy and him together when everything else was dissolving around them, and because… of this. Because it got him to meet new people, to make new friends, to fall-

“Shit,” Castiel mutters suddenly and stands up. He walks over to the oven and pulls it open, letting a small plume of steam escape. “You’d think in a room with two nationally acclaimed bakers, we wouldn’t burn a pie, of all things,” he mutters as he grabs the pie tin with a dish rag wrapped over his hand. 

Dean laughs and watches Cas swat at the smoke with the dish towel. 

“Great job, us,” Dean chuckles and moves over to the other side of the island to help Cas disperse the smoke. He reaches over to grab a dish towel hanging on the cabinet underneath the sink at the same time that Castiel turns back around to face him so their faces are close enough that they’re breathing the same air, existing in the same space, standing on the same tile of the kitchen. 

“Oh, sorry,” Castiel says, but he doesn’t move away. Dean doesn’t either, just swipes his tongue hot and slow across his bottom lip, shifting his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet, leaning forwards as the eye contact between them doesn’t break, just both of their bodies slowly moving closer and-

The fire alarm goes off. 

Castiel jumps back and glances around, blinking as if leaving some sort of trance state. “Ah, great,” he mutters and grabs the dish towel out of Dean’s hand. He grabs the pie and starts heading for the back door. 

Dean sucks his lip in between his teeth and slowly follows. God, if this is how the rest of this season is gonna go, maybe leaving Sam in charge of the St. Louis location for so long wasn’t too bad of an idea. 

He just really, really couldn’t fuck up Cas’ chances at this. If it’s made clear that they had ever interacted in a way more than what was on the show, Castiel would be gotten rid of as soon as possible, or Dean would be replaced, and both of those ideas suck. 

The bottom of his socks soak through as he mindlessly steps into the dew-coated grass of the back lawn. The other judges and contestants are leaving the mansion sleepily, all rubbing their eyes, in some state of undress, or seemingly angry. Dean blinks and turns around and sees Castiel standing there miserably holding his burnt pie, still smoldering. 

Dean laughs, a full, hearty belly laugh that makes his back ache. Castiel’s face splits in a small smile and he looks down at the pie. 

“This isn’t the best sign for the challenge tomorrow,” he says softly. Dean laughs until the tears at the corners of his eyes match the dampness underfoot. He feels good. 

Maybe it’s not the best sign for the competition, but it feels like a damn good one for something else. Something better.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading! follow me on twitter at either @fallencastiel for pure spn content or @bellowbacks for my general yelling


End file.
